Seeing Red
by WriterFreak101
Summary: Challenge 1: Red. AU. Ever since he won the 74th Hunger Games, Cato has been seeing nothing but red. His nightmares are filled with images of the Games. Of the lives he brutally took. The Games are far from over though. There is a price for victory besides nightmares. With the Quarter Quell under way, Cato becomes the new mentor for District 2's boy tribute.


**AN: I do not own Hunger Games. It belongs to Suzanne Collins. I'm just a fanfic author. So don't sue. **

**This fic is just one that I am writing as to challenge myself. I have a whole series of challenges set for myself. No specific scheduling, just writing them when I feel I am up for the challenge. Each challenge is based off of a particular characteristic. The challenge must reflect that characteristic. For instance, this fic is centered around the challenge "Red." So the fic must have something to do with red. I have come up with fifty challenges. And I will possibly add more depending if I see it fit. **

**Also, this fic is set in the same universe I established for the one I am writing my story _More Than Just Pieces_ in. So you may see some light references from that. This story is obviously AU though. I want to explore what Panem would be like if Cato had won the Hunger Games instead of Katniss and Peeta. **

**Now, I will be quiet so you can read this fic. **

All he could see was red.

When he woke up every morning after a restless sleep, he saw red. When he went out to pick up groceries at the market, he saw red. When he sat on the couch by himself, he saw red. If he was down in the basement training in the private gym he had set up for himself, all he could see was red. If he was with a girl that he liked, he still saw red. If he was with the other past Victors, he saw red.

Red. A deep, dark red. The kind you would associate with blood. Blood that flowed from the bodies of those he had killed. The ones he murdered for the sake of winning honor, glory and fame. No matter where he looked, he could see it. Even when he closed his eyes, that was all he could see. It was like it did not want to be forgotten. No matter how many times he tried to get over it, his actions still haunted him. The faces of those who had died because of him refused to be forgotten. Those faces would whisper in his ear. Their tones filled with bitter rage and hatred. Nagging him, asking why he had to live. Why did he have to live? What made him more deserving to live than they?

No matter how many times he tried to come up with an answer for the faces, who often appeared to him with blood streaming down their cheeks, he couldn't. There was not a single answer he could give that could justify what he had done. Absolutely none. And every time he didn't answer, the faces would always change. Their mouths and noses would become longer and broader, coming together into a snout. Their skin would become covered with fur that matched their hair color. Their ears would become pointed, and slide up the sides of their heads until they were on top. Their human words would change into howls, growls, snarls, and barks. After that, their faces would all lunge towards him, and they would start ripping him to shreds. Piece by piece. His screams and howls became just as loud and inhuman as the monsters who were attacking him. And the sky above him would be painted with blood. Not just any blood though, but his blood.

Every night whenever he had a dream similar to that, Cato would wake up screaming to find his legs tangled in the sheets. His chest, neck, and forehead covered in a sheen of sweat. His hands clenched tightly in their grip on the white sheets of his bed. Panting, he would look about the room, always afraid that the mutts who attacked him in his dreams were always trying to break into his home. Once, he thought there was actually a mutt at his door. Picking up the sword he always kept at his bedside, he threw the window open and hacked at the thing that he had seen. Come to find out it was only a tree branch. Enobaria and Brutus, his neighbors, had heard him screaming as he hacked at the branch. The morning after, they were both laughing at him. Laughing at the fact the Games had changed him from a fierce competitor to a weak and pathetic mess.

Their laughter would always ring in his ears. Just like the voices of the bloodied faces that always appeared in his nightmares.

Despite the fact everyone in the Victor's Village knew that Cato was a wreck, he tried to keep on an arrogant persona whenever he went out into the District. The pressure was on from the Capitol all the time. You had to look as though you were proud to be a Victor. All of the Victors were under pressure, but those from District Two were without a doubt the ones under the most. District Two was one of the three Districts known for producing the Careers. They had to keep up the facade that they were happy with what they did. So that they could continue producing more Careers. Failure to comply would lead to certain death. One Victor, Artemis Longdan, had failed to comply to the rule. They said she died because of some bad shellfish she ate at the end of her Victory Tour. Everyone in the Victor's Village knew it was because she wasn't very convincing in her attempts to make it look like she was proud of her victory. Another Victor before Artemis, Lyme Hendricks, had also suffered because she failed to keep up the facade. She had managed to put on a convincing show for Panem, but it wasn't enough. Her whole family had been executed on grounds that they were involved in some conspiracy against the Capitol. Very rare to find in District Two because the population generally loved the Capitol.

Cato didn't want that to happen to him or his family. Even though it was like he was entering one nightmare after another, he kept up the charade. Not wanting anymore blood on his hands. Especially the blood of his loved ones. He saw enough red already.

Despite his desire not to see red though, he still did. Except the red wasn't from some other person's blood, but his own. They came out from the wounds that were inflicted on him. These wounds were inflicted as a result of what he had recently become part of, or rather to be more accurate, forced into. Ever since the Victory Tour, he had been taking part in an industry called the Commercial Sex Trade. Apparently, if a Capitol citizen found a Victor desirable, they could submit money to pay for a night with one. He was signed only for the option list for women, thankfully, because Cato honestly did not like men in that way. (Though he had nothing against people who were attracted to the same gender, Cato himself did not roll that way.)

The first night he had ever been forced to bed with someone was the one he could remember most. It had happened a day after his Final Interviews. Instead of shipping him off right back to his District like they did with most Tributes the day after the Final Interviews, that evening, Cato had been sent to a house about eight blocks away from the Training Center. Of course, they had told him beforehand what it was he was supposed to do. It made him sick to his stomach. He tried to argue out of it, but there was no use. The woman had sent in a payment the moment after he had been declared Victor. Not only did she pay, but she also sent a message saying, "I am the first customer. I want him as soon as he can be available."

When he arrived at the woman's house, two Peacekeepers escorted him to the front door. After knocking, the woman opened the door. A huge grin appeared on her face and she let out a shrill of excited laughter. "Oh I knew I was going to be the first one to have him!" That wasn't true, of course. During his years training in the Academy, Cato had been...well...to put it nicely, a playboy. Girls came into his bed, and they left the next morning happy.

Knowing that correcting the woman probably wouldn't change anything though, he remained silent. The next thing he knew, the woman had pulled him into her home. She forced her lips on his. He tried pulling away, but she wouldn't let him go. When she did part her lips, it was only enough to take in breath. That was when she grabbed him tightly by his wrist and pulled him close to her. "Oh Cato," she whispered gently in his ear, "this is going to be such an _amazing_ time. Ever since I set my eyes on you when you volunteered at your reaping, I knew that you and I were just meant to have this night together."

He could have snapped her neck if he wanted to. But he knew that murdering a Capitol citizen would not play too well. Instead, he tried to shove her away. "Let go of me," he snarled.

"Oh Cato," she said, ignoring the tone he had used on her. Meanwhile, her own had become light and flirty."I know you must be nervous. It's okay. Everyone's first time is usually the roughest. I'll be sure to make it memorable though." Then she stood on her toes and whispered in his ear. Each word though got dark and as cold as ice. Clearly a threatening tone. "And I know you will make my night memorable too. If not, then I will be sure to send word to President Snow that you were uncooperative. It would be a shame if your family...well...had an accident or something." She paused for a few moments to allow her words to sink in before continuing. "We understand each other, right, Cato?"

And like that, Cato realized that there was going to be no way out of this. A way that didn't involve death anyway. The horror of the situation made his stomach flop around. That ill feeling wasn't there long though, as the woman continued kissing him. Then with her hand tightly gripping his wrist, she pulled him over to her couch. Where she shoved him onto the cushion. Before he could say or do anything though, she jumped on top of him. Forcing her lips on him. Which led on to many tortures. She forced him to undress her, to kiss her and touch her in places he didn't want to touch, and to whisper her name seductively. When she "returned the favor" as she called it, she practically ripped his clothes off of him. Her nails dug into his flesh, her teeth bit into his skin. And then she touched him in places that he did not want her to touch. Places he only allowed her to because of the threat that hung over his family's head.

By the time morning came, Cato had been reduced to a puddle. His body was soar and aching from all the positions she had forced him into, plus what the woman had done to his body. Cuts and bruises riddled his body. Blood still welled from some of them. Looking at them in the mirror made him sick. So sick that he did the one thing he had hardly ever done unless he had a bad case of the flu. He threw up. Sweat rolled down his body, he quivered like a dog who had just been struck, his face looking straight into the woman's toilet. Coughing and spewing up vomit, Cato didn't know what to think. All he could think about was the fact that he had just been forced to take part in an activity with someone he didn't want to do it with. What made it worse was the fact that he knew that this would not be the end, only the beginning.

Even when he left the woman's house, her voice still whispered in his ears. Except it was never the pleasant, sweet, flirty tone she used when they were at it. No, instead, it was always that menacing voice she had used when she threatened him.

She had become a prominent figure in his nightmares.

It didn't take too long for Cato to be called back to the Capitol again to please another woman who had bought him for another night. Then another a week after that one. And then another a couple weeks later. Soon, he found himself called to the Capitol at least four to six times a month. Each night he ended up spending the night with a different woman. A woman who said his name with affection that he had to pretend that he returned. A woman who said they would remember his name forever, but which he would only remember for a couple of days because another one would take her place. A woman who would leave her marks on him. Whenever the women asked where he got them, he said it was from his time at training. They were too stupid to realize that they had actually come from women he had been forced to sleep with before them. Or if they did suspect, they must not have cared.

In just four months, Cato had become one of the top sellers among Capitolite women who took part in the practice. Coming second only to Finnick Odair of District Four, Victor of the sixty-fifth Hunger Games. It was not an achievement that Cato was proud of. In fact, he hated it. Having to pretend he was passionate for some woman he didn't know or even care to know. Having their hands touch him in places that nobody should touch unless given willing permission. Having them whisper his name over and over in his ear, saying how much they loved what he was doing. In fact, their voices had joined the chorus of others that were always haunting his nightmares. What's worse was that they knew what they were doing was wrong, and they tried to make up for it by sending him expensive presents or giving him high amounts of cash. Every time he received one of their "gifts" he would just throw them in the trash or give it to somebody else. He didn't want anything that had their hands on it. It reminded him too much of what those hands had done to his body. Things that he had only allowed done to him because he was scared of what would happen to those he loved.

His family had tried reaching out to him, knowing there was something wrong. But Cato refused to interact with them. It took him a few months, but he had come to the conclusion that the closer he was to his family, the more vulnerable he'd be. The Capitol was willing to cross any bounds in order to keep control. The way they controlled him was by threatening to harm his mother, father, and his two little brothers. He had already let go of his friends, mostly because being around them made him miserable. It had hurt him terribly, but he ignored them every time they came to see him. And if they were persistent, he would threaten to report them to the Peacekeepers for harassment.

That was what he had done to his family. Except unlike his friends, they were a little more persistent. One by one though, they all stopped talking to him. First his father. It hurt when he stopped trying to contact him, but Cato grit his teeth and accepted it. Then the oldest of his younger brothers, Cash, followed their father three days later. That one hurt too. Almost like someone had hit him with a club. Again, he ground his teeth and accepted it. It took another two weeks for his mother to finally stop trying to get to him. That made him feel so awful he didn't even bother going out in public for a few days. After those few days though, he clenched his teeth and moved on.

But it was Caius, the youngest of his brothers, who was the most stubborn, that affected Cato most. Out of all his family members he was the one who refused to give up on Cato. Though it touched him that his brother cared so much, he knew that for Caius's sake, he had to get him to stop coming to him.

So he did the unthinkable. When his brother came into the house, saying that he refused to leave until Cato came out to see him.

That was when Cato lunged. Caius was only eleven years old, soon to be twelve in a month. And he had no weapons at all to help defend him. With brutality, Cato hurled knives at his brother. Though not his best weapon, he had learned a little bit of knife-throwing from Clove. In return for her teaching how to throw one properly, he taught her a few tricks with a sword. The art had come in handy when he was in the final three with Katniss and Peeta. When he had his one arm locked around Peeta's throat, he used the hand of his free arm to hurl a knife at Katniss. He had actually been aiming for her head, instead it ended up in her neck. The arrow that she had nocked to her bowstring had released, and the arrow did manage to catch Cato on his upper-right shoulder. Of course by then it hardly mattered. Using his strength, he managed to suffocate his final competition to death. Purposely he threw knives at his brother and missed him by slivers of an inch. He didn't want to hurt his brother, no matter how desperate he was to push him away. He was only hoping he would scare his brother away.

It only took a few seconds of knife throwing to get his brother to start screaming. As they sailed at his brother, Cato would snarl and growl. Threatening to murder him if he ever came a step towards the house again.

That was when one of the last of his knives slipped from his fingers a bit, and went sailing at his brother. It skimmed the side of his brother's head. A wail filled the air as his brother's hand went to the side of his head where the knife passed by. Without another word his brother went running out the door.

To make sure he was gone, Cato peeked out of it. And there he saw his brother, sobbing. And that was when he saw the thin stream of red that ran down the side of Caius's cheek. A horrified sensation rushed through him. His caring brother instincts kicked in, and he opened the door. The bond he had with his little brother led him out the door. His heart thudded in his ears. A voice screamed in rage and fury at him. Scolding him harshly for doing what he had done to his brother. Telling him he now had to make things right.

But before Cato could reach him though, Caius started screaming. "Get away from me!" he cried. "Get away from me, you monster!" His chest heaved with sobs, and then he started running in the opposite direction of the Victor's Village. Leaving behind droplets of blood and tears as he ran down the road.

That was when Cato realized that he had accomplished in pushing his family away. He had thought that by breaking the contact with his family and friends would make it easier on him.

Boy was he wrong though. The only thing he had now was a voice in the back of his mind. One that scolded him for being so stupid, thinking that doing any of that would actually help him. Because now he was alone, and he had no one to face the nightmares of flowing blood and tears with.

He tried reaching out to the other Victors, but his efforts were mostly fruitless. In their own attempts to convince the Capitol that they were proud of what they had done, many of the Victors had even managed to fool themselves. Brutus, for example, laughed mockingly at Cato when the two of them and a few other Victors had gathered at a party, to celebrate the upcoming Quarter Quell announcement. Others he saw took pity on him, but they did nothing to help. Among these was his Mentor, Antonio. Antonio was only a couple of years older than Cato, and had been the winner of the seventy-second Hunger Games. When Cato looked at him, he could see the sorrow in his eyes. Apparently, he understood what Cato was suffering. Yet he made no move. Just stood back and drank some wine that had been served to him.

Only one person understood him and was willing to show it. Lyme Hendricks, who had won her Games over a generation ago. A Career once herself, she knew exactly what Cato was feeling. After the party, the two of them walked down the street together and talked. Talked about what they had both suffered. What they had done. What had been done to them. How their lives weren't the same.

Finally, Cato sighed and asked, "Lyme, you lost your whole family because the Capitol killed them, right?"

Lyme sighed. "I would have lost them anyway. I was surprised they even recognized me after I came out of my Games. We hardly spoke since I had won." She paused for a few moments. "Talking with them only reminded me how much I had changed since I came out of the arena." Her eyes looking down at the road in front of her, she said, "I barely even cried when they died. That's how distant our relationship got because of what the Games had done to me, what I had done to myself."

"How do you deal with it?" He sighed. "I'm struggling a lot here. I know I'm supposed to appear proud and confident. But I don't. I feel weak. The nightmares won't go away."

Lyme shook her head, her blond hair with shocks of gray falling in front of her right eye. "They will never go away, Cato. Trust me, it's been thirty-two years since I had been in the arena, and I still suffer. I tried everything. Psychiatric visits, alcohol, men, even morphling. None of them worked. (And I didn't like any of the results they did to my body either.) So I have come to accept it. That's all you can do. You don't deal with it. You just come to terms with it. Accept the fact that you are going to suffer until the day you die. Nobody said you had to like it, but you must for the sake of moving on and distract yourself from it."

"How do you move on though?"

They both stopped in front of his house. Lyme placed a hand on his shoulder. Her eyes looked straight into his, not looking away or blinking for a second. Making it clear that what she was about to say was important. "You find something worth living for."

"What though?" he asked. "What is there worth living for? I have nothing. I pushed everyone away I loved. There's nothing I want more than for my own death to come."

Lyme shrugged. "Afraid I can't help you with that. That is something you alone must decide." And with that, she started walking away, heading towards the curb. No doubt going to be heading to her own house in the Village. After walking about three yards though, she stopped dead in her tracks. Then she turned a full one hundred eighty degrees so she was looking in his direction. "I will be here for you, though. If you need any advice or support."

A warm sensation rushed through Cato's heart. Honestly, he was touched by what Lyme had told him. "Thanks," he responded.

Before he could say more though, Lyme turned around and started making her way down the street. He watched her as she turned right at the curb, and vanished out of sight behind one of the houses. Then he made his way into his house. When he entered, he could smell booze and smoking sticks on his clothes. Not wanting to go to bed with the stench, he had taken his clothes off and tossed them in the hamper to wash in the morning. After showering, he slipped on a pair of briefs and then crawled into bed. And the moment he closed his eyes, he saw red once more. And the faces of all those who were haunting his nightmares.

At least he had a face to look to that didn't want to see him dead or tortured though.

0o0o0o0

A week later was the announcement of the Quarter Quell. Every twenty-five years of Hunger Games, a Quell was held. A Quell was like any ordinary Hunger Games, aside for the fact that there was always a twist. Usually the twist added an extra theme to the usual Games. (For an ordinary year, the theme was to remind the Districts that they deserved this because of their revolt against the Capitol.) Plus, the twists always seemed to add more fun for the audience. Cato remembered having to study the Quells during his time training as a Career. For the First Quell, to remind the Districts that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every District was made to hold an election and vote for the Tributes who would represent it. (The winner of that year had been a guy named Crete Townsend from District One.) For the Second Quell, to remind the Districts that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every District was required to send twice as many Tributes. (The winner of that year had been Haymitch Abernathy from District Twelve.) This year...the seventy-fifth Hunger Games...marked the Third Quarter Quell.

Cato sat in a chair that stood against the right wall of Lyme's living room. Because he was the most recent boy Victor, he was going to be given the task to train District Two's male tribute for that year. Having Lyme there, who had sort have become a mother-figure to him in just one week alone, was comforting. She stood by the chair, choosing not to sit. 'I'm not a person who likes to sit around,' was what she had said to him the one time he asked.

They both listened and watched as President Snow explained the purpose of the Quell. Then he pulled out an envelope from a wooden box held by a boy. President Snow opened the envelope and then pulled out the card that dictated what that year's Quarter Quell would be about. "To remind the Districts that everyone is subject to the Capitol's justice, no matter their connections, the boy and girl Tributes for the seventy-fifth Hunger Games will _only _consist of eligible relatives of each District's past Victors."

Cato felt his blood run cold. He felt for Lyme's hand, and she took it, grasping onto it tightly. "No," he whispered. "This can't be happening." The horrifying realization hit him like a ton of bricks. This year, the only ones subject to the Reapings were relatives of past Victors.

His brothers could possibly be going to the Games.

0o0o0o0

About two months after the Quell announcement, the actual Reaping was held. Cato could remember sitting in a chair in front of the crowd. Watching and holding his breath as Calvin, Escort of District Two for the past fifteen years, selected the names of the Tributes for that year.

Being one for protocol, Calvin started with the girls. He selected a slip from the bowl and read it. "Viva Embers."

A girl of fifteen years made her way to the stage. The moment he looked at her, Cato could tell who she was related to. She was related to Romanan Embers, who had been the Victor of the thirty-eighth Hunger Games. She was probably a granddaughter or something. However, she wasn't up on the stage for long before a different girl came up to take her place. It took Cato a while to place her because she didn't look like any of the Victors who were sitting with him on the stage. However, when Calvin asked her what her name was, he instantly knew. "Juliana Lurranno." So she was related to Enobaria, whose last name was Lurranno. Enobaria herself had no children, nor had she chose to marry. This girl must have been a niece of hers.

After Juliana Luranno was established as the female Tribute, Calvin moved on to the boys. Cato found himself holding his breath. His heart thudded against his chest, sounding like a drum to his ears. A lump was starting to form in his throat. Even though someone was more than likely going to volunteer for the person who was going to be reaped, it made him nervous. Who was he going to have to mentor for this year's Hunger Games?

"Caius Aldwerg."

Cato felt his mouth drop. A cry must have escaped from his lips, but no sound went with it. "_No_," he thought. "_This can't be happening_. _Not him_! _It can't be him_!"

Yet it was.

His youngest brother had just been reaped.

He felt a hand grip tightly to his shoulder. From the corner of his eye, Cato could see Antonio holding him in his seat. Apparently he must have started to rise or something. This infuriated Cato, and he wanted to punch his former Mentor in the face. But he couldn't without taking his eyes off of the little blond boy with blue eyes, twelve years old only, taking the stage. Aside from the fact that he wasn't as built, Caius looked like an exact replica of Cato. Everyone's eyes widened, and from where he sat, Cato could see their eyes going from him to his brother. Obviously making note of the connection. In fact, the only one who wasn't sneaking a glance at Cato was Caius himself. And even though he knew it was what he wanted, to not have any connection with any of his family members, Cato still felt hurt. Like he had been run over by a train. He wished and wished that this was only a nightmare. That his brother had not been reaped.

It was a moment later that wish was fulfilled. A boy about seventeen years old took the stage. His hair was chopped short and it was a black color, his eyes were a surprising blue. His skin was tanned, and he was pretty large and well-built. This time, Cato knew who he was because he was almost an exact copy of the person he was related to. This was the son of Brutus Wilkes. The same Brutus who had managed to fool even himself that what he had done in the arena was the greatest thing he had ever did. Now his son, who everyone knew he barely had a connection with because Brutus was rarely seen in public with him, was planning on walking the same path.

"What's your name, champ?" Calvin asked.

"Severin Wilkes."

The audience was told to give a round of applause. Cheers rang through the crowd. The Mayor read the Treaty of Treason, and the Anthem played out the Reaping while the two Tributes were led off of the stage and escorted into the Justice Building. Meanwhile, Cato found himself being escorted off the stage as well, and led to the Capitol train that would be taking him to the Capitol. Joining him as Mentor for District Two's tributes was Gallia Mentry, victor of the sixty-seventh Hunger Games.

The week that followed up until the Hunger Games was one that Cato struggled with. Mostly because Severin had no intentions of listening to anything that he told him. Instead, he only listened to his father, who had come to the Capitol just as many Victors did. Though he didn't understand why he wouldn't listen, Cato decided to let it go. As one of his Pre-Mentors had once said, "You can't teach a horse to drink if it doesn't want to."

Still, because it was technically his job, he kept track of Severin's progress. Overall, he did a very good job. During the Chariot Rides, he and Julia became overnight sensations with their costumes that made them look like ancient Chinese warriors. However, so hadn't the tributes from One, Four, and Twelve. The stylist, Cinna, the genius that he was, had managed to make District Twelve's Tributes worth remembering just as he did last year. When he watched them on the television screen, Cato instantly recognized the girl Tribute. Primrose Everdeen. Because neither Haymitch or the Victor before him had any living relatives, they just pulled in relatives of past tributes. When he looked at Primrose, Cato could see that there was a spark in her eyes. Not a spark fueling with rage though. It was a fire burning in memory. Clearly, Primrose had an intention to win these Games in the memory of her sister. Her costume was reflecting that clearly, because she was wearing a red dress that seemed to glow with warmth, just like memories were always glowing with warmth. At least good ones anyway. (As for the boy, Cato didn't recognize him. He didn't even catch his name. The only thing he noticed was that he was about the same age as Primrose.)

For the Training Scores, Severin did a pretty good job as well. He got a ten out of twelve, tying him with Julia as the ones with the highest scores. However they were followed close behind the District Four girl and the District One boy. And the District One girl and the District Four boy had the lowest of scores out of all the Careers, receiving eights. Surprisingly, a boy from Seven managed to pull a score of seven. So hadn't a girl from Eight. And Primrose of District Twelve managed to pull a seven as well. Though this didn't scare Severin or Julia, Cato knew better than to write this off.

It was strange for him to watch their overconfidence. Last year, he could recall being as arrogant as they had been. Just one more piece of evidence that showed that the arena had changed him.

Severin had had people signing up to be his Sponsor since he had first been Reaped. Every night, Cato had to take a look at the submissions and decide which ones he would accept. Most of them managed, but he refused to take any he knew who were a part of the Sex Trade practice. That was a mistake that his own Mentor had done. Those who took on Sponsors who were part of the Sex Trade- should they win- would be instantly placed in the Trade. (Only those who had any attractiveness ever got any Sponsors from the Sex Trade.) As much as Cato didn't like Severin, he didn't think he deserved to be put through the same kind of hell that he was being put through. _Nobody_ deserved it.

At the Interviews, Severin managed to pull himself off as a charming and brutal Tribute. Instantly winning him even more Sponsors. However, both the District Four girl and Primrose had managed to pull off memorable interviews as well. The girl from District Four played the sexy and flirty angle, reminding Cato instantly of Glimmer's interview. However, she did do one thing that Glimmer didn't, she added substance. She revealed that she was planning on using the money to help scientists figure out ways to get the most out of the ocean without having to take so much from it. (Basically, figuring out a way to go greener with the deep blue sea.) And Primrose managed to win the crowd over with her story of Katniss, also known as the Girl on Fire. Talking about how brave her sister was, and how she planned on winning these Games in her memory. When she was asked by Caesar Flickerman how she earned the score of seven, she told him, "I know a concoction or two." Before she could explain though, her time ran out.

That night after Severin and Julia had turned in for bed, Cato went into his room to look over the Sponsors one last time. There, he found Brutus, sitting on his bed, a displeased expression on his face. The man was in his forties, but he still had a lot of power. And from the way he was looking at him now, he had a feeling he was going to be on the receiving end of that power. Because Brutus looked like he wanted to rip him to shreds. Not wanting to show any fear though, he said, "What are you doing here, Brutus? If you came to see your son, he's already turned in."

"If I wanted to see my son, I would have been there," Brutus growled. He got up from the bed. Cato watched as he walked over to the desk that had been set along one side of his room. Resting on the desk surface was a file which Cato stored all of the information on Severin's Sponsors. It was this that Brutus picked up. "I'm actually here to talk to you, Cato." Walking over in Cato's direction with the folder in hand, he continued, "I'm curious as to why you have chosen specific Sponsors."

"Because I feel they'll be the ones who are most likely to get your son out alive," Cato said. "That's kind of my job, after all."

Brutus's expression hardened. "Really? Then how come you don't have any of the Sponsors from the Commercial Sex Industry on here?"

Cato frowned. "Because I know what would happen to your son if I did."

Brutus growled and hurled the file across the room. He stomped over in Cato's direction. Refusing to back down and appear weak though, Cato stood his ground. He set his face in a defiant expression as Brutus gave him a death glare, their faces only a couple of inches apart. In a low and fierce growl Brutus asked, "Are you trying to get my son killed?"

"No," Cato said. "I'm trying to save him from a future that I couldn't be saved from."

"If you don't sign up the commercial sex Sponsors, then he may not have any future!" growled Brutus.

Cato crossed his arms over his chest. "If that's the case, he's better off dying." He tried to recall if Brutus had ever been forced into the commercial sex industry. Out of all the names of guys he had seen written on the lists as possibilities for women to bed with, he couldn't recall Brutus's name at all. "Have you ever been forced into the commercial sex industry, Brutus?" Before the former Victor could say anything, Cato forged on. "Trust me. I've only been in it for a few months and already it's taken a toll on me. It's not fun."

"Really?" Brutus asked. "It doesn't seem that way. From what I hear, the commercial sex industry is one of the most popular industries in the Capitol."

"Popular, yes," Cato said, "but it's not fun. Especially for the Victors who are caught in it. If you don't believe my testimony, take a look at Finnick Odair from Four, or Cashmere Willis from District One."

"Finnick Odair is just a pretty boy who wouldn't have won without his looks. Believe me, he may have been a Career, but he's a sap, a poor excuse for a Career Victor. Only won because of his looks. And Cashmere is a fragile thing anyway. Nothing good but her looks."

"It doesn't matter!" Cato shot back furiously, his nostrils flaring at Brutus's ignorance. "It doesn't matter who you are, Brutus! If you're forced into the sex industry the way those of us in it are, then it doesn't matter how strong you are. Or how much of a Career you are. Some of the strongest Victors have been torn to shreds and broken down because of it." Memories of what women had done to him flashed through his mind. Sending chills down his spine. Shaking himself from them, he said, "They do things that should never be done to a person without willful consent, and even then I question it."

That was when he felt the powerful blow on his cheek. His head jerked to the side. Cato swore and clutched his cheek with his hand. His eyes returning to Brutus's face, Cato glared. "Damn it, asshole!" His adrenaline was pumping now. Balling his hands into fists, Cato prepared himself. "Try it again! Come on! Bring it! I'll take you down!"

"Watch it kid," Brutus growled. "Respect your elders."

"I only respect the ones who deserve it," Cato growled. "Right now, my respect for you has gone down to zero."

"You listen here, brat!" roared Brutus, grabbing Cato by the collar of his shirt. Shaking Cato roughly, he shouted, "I am not going to have you ruining my son's chances of survival because of your stupid sense of morality you must have developed!" Before he could say or do anything more though, Cato dealt him a blow to the nose. Brutus yowled, and let go of Cato roughly. His hand immediately went to his nose, and Cato smiled inwardly in satisfaction at the blood that was oozing out of Brutus's nose. Judging by how purple it was turning, he could tell that he probably broke it too.

While Brutus tried to staunch the blood flowing from his nose, Cato spoke. "No, you listen. I am trying to help your son in anyway I can. I don't want him to die (even though looking at it, death is probably better than survival). But I am refusing to have any more dealings with the commercial sex industry than what I have to. Not only does it make me sick, but I don't want the same fate to fall on your son. Yes, the sex industry tends to have some of the richest Sponsors. But it's not worth it. The moment your son signs up with them, he's doomed. That's how I ended up in the industry! Because my Mentor was stupid enough to sign up some of them."

"What does it matter?" Brutus growled. "They can still take him anyway! They've done it before!"

"Yes, they could. That doesn't mean I shouldn't prevent that from happening as much as possible." Walking over to Brutus, Cato took the folder from him that had all the list of Sponsors that Severin had managed to gain. "Whether you like it or not Brutus, your son's life has been placed in my hands. I'm going to do the best I can to help him. I know that's what you think you're doing as well, but doing this to him is not the best, or even the right way."

"There is no right or wrong when it comes to the Games," growled Brutus. "It's survival. Either kill or be killed."

Cato frowned sharply. "Yes, it is. But is it really worth it?"

There was a voice clearing behind him. Cato turned and saw Gallia standing behind him. A displeased expression showed on her face. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest. Her eyes were set in a glare. "What the hell are you two doing?" she asked. "Are you trying to wake up the whole building?" She took in the sight of Brutus trying to staunch the blood from his nose. "Well that's just lovely," she said sarcastically.

"Quiet," Brutus shot back, his voice slightly muffled because of his nose. "You have no business-"

"This is my business!" Gallia cut him off. "I am a Mentor, and when there's an argument going on about the Tributes, it doesn't matter who's in charge of them or not." She pointed in the direction of the elevator. "You're not supposed to be here, Brutus. So get your ass out of here and on that elevator or else I'll have the Peacekeepers escort it to the nearest prison."

"I'd like to see you try," Brutus challenged.

Gallia smiled. "Oh, you don't know just how serious I can be, do you?"

Cato couldn't help but smile. Gallia was doing a pretty good job at handling the situation. The uncertainty on Brutus's face was easily visible. Gallia bobbed her head in the direction of the elevator. "This is your last chance, Brutus. If you don't go in the next five seconds, I'm calling the Peacekeepers. Your choice. Choose wisely."

Brutus growled. He turned to Cato and shot him a death glare. "I'll be sending you my bill." He made his way out the door, but stopped when he was on the other side of it. "If my son dies because of your stupidity, I'm going to kill you, Aldwerg!" With that, he stomped down the hall.

The two Mentors stood and watched as he climbed into the elevator. Once the doors had closed and there was a sound indicating the elevator was going down, they turned away. Cato nodded his thanks at Gallia. "Appreciate you coming when you did."

"Not like I had a choice. I couldn't let the two of you kill each other. I don't want to be stuck with two Tributes to look after."

They said no more to each other after that. Instead, Cato went to the dining room and had an Avox fetch him some ice. Pressing the ice against his cheek, Cato sat at the table in silence. Thinking about what it was Brutus had said. About him better be getting his son out of the arena alive or else he'd kill him. Cato barely knew Brutus aside from what he had heard. But he was certain of two things. One, that if he did fail and if Severin did die because of the fact that he needed something and he couldn't get it because there was no money, Brutus was going to carry out his threat. The second...that even though Brutus didn't act like it, it was clear he did love and care about his son. It made him jealous of Severin. Envious because he had to give up his family to keep them safe. That he wasn't close enough to his family to have that kind of support that Brutus was giving his son.

That night his sleep was fitful. Haunted by faces who wanted him dead or wanted to do things to him that made him shiver. And this time, a new face joined the cast. Brutus. His words echoed above all the others. 'If my son dies because of your stupidity, I'm going to kill you.'

_Kill you. Kill you. Kill you_.

The words haunted Cato. Bringing on even more nightmares. Making him seeing red over and over again.


End file.
